


Crossroads Café

by subtextual



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Barista Dean, Dean/Cas Secret Santa 2015, Destiel Secret Santa, Fluff, Hate to Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Snowed In, Writer Castiel, briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5665372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtextual/pseuds/subtextual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[secret santa ‘15]</p><p> Dean is a barista at a small local coffee shop and Cas is a loyal customer. Despite this, they've never spoken, and Dean only knows his name and that he works on his laptop constantly. But on New Year’s eve, they are the only two in the shop when they are snowed in.</p><p>Or the one where an obnoxious green eyed barista smiles too much and a grumpy writer can’t stop counting his freckles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossroads Café

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fairy911911](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairy911911/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy! The little logo header was a last minute addition by me as well. :)

** **

**CROSSROADS CAFÉ**

"Lovely. The power went out and I lost my first draft I was working on. What can I do now?" 

"Hey I got an idea Cas."

"What is it, Dean?" 

"It ain't all bad... We could bang."

* * *

 

_' “I’m an angel of the lord,” he replies, voice low and gruff. Eyes blazing with the flame of grace he steps toward the righteous man. Behind his wings arch high, casting dark shadows over the walls of the barn._

_Up close he can feel the strength of the hunter burning bright and beautiful. Never before had he seen a more perfect soul. Every inch of his tanned skin entwined with gold-'_

Castiel huffed out a sigh and tapped the backspace on the key of his old laptop. “No, that’s not right,” he mumbled to himself. Gold just, it wasn’t good enough for his righteous man. The character far too powerful and pure to be described with a soul only golden. As he always seemed to when he got stuck on a passage, he took a sip from his piping hot coffee glancing towards the front of the small shop.

There stood the barista, a wide grin on his face and those green eyes lit up as he served the customer in front of him. White teeth flashed. An easy smile played on Dean’s features. Yes, Dean. Because despite the fact that they have never once talked he knew the employee’s name.

Usually Dean irritated him. Though he did nothing wrong, the way he… flirted with every customer drove him mad. It was far from professional. Then there was the fact whenever his fellow employees turned away he snuck bits of pastries from the display. And he didn’t even use a fork, which was clearly the _proper_ way to eat apple crumbled pie. Dean simply used a spoon and occasionally his fingers as he picked at what was meant to be that evening special. Disgusting.

By no means did this mean Castiel watched the barista. That would be preposterous. He merely took a few moments to look at him whenever he needed a source of inspiration for his latest novel – _The Michael Sword._ Or, at least that was the working title.

Taking another drink of his coffee Castiel read over his chapter once more, the one where the angel and hunter finally met after he saved him from Hell. Gold. That was what was troubling him. Though he doubted he would ever be able to describe the perfection of the righteous man. For now he worked over the rest of the page.

Most people in Crossroads knew better to talk to him. Crowley was not one of those people. Perhaps that was because he owned the café and felt entitled with his customers. Then again Crowley felt entitled about everything.

“Castiel, darling,” the man greeted with a smug smile, drumming pale fingers against his small corner table in the back. “Been here all day, again?” Crowley questioned.

For a moment Castiel considered ignoring him and simply going back to his writing. The… friendship between the two was tentative at best. An old business deal long forgotten. “You know me Crowley,” he answered briefly. “On my best days I am merely introverted.”

The words hung in the air. Crowley most likely looking for some kind of snarky reply. “Always the grump, aren’t you?” He drawled, folding his arms across his chest and glancing at his screen. Reading over Castiel’s work in silence, he grew all the more amused. “Hmm… reads more like one of those silly romance paperbacks then anything serious,” he commented.

“In what way?” Castiel’s asked, words dry and heavy with boredom. Crowley worked constantly to get a rise out of him. On almost every novel he made the New York Times; he could care less what the café owner thought.

“Oh, I don’t know…. Green eyes as bright and endless as the stars is a bit much.”

Castiel breathed through his nose before exhaling. “It’s a first draft. It isn’t perfection,” he defended, moving one hand to the screen of his laptop.

A twinkle sparked in Crowley’s eyes. Lips pressed together in a hint of a smirk. “Well. A first draft to be published by _Harlequin_ , maybe.”

 _Damn him._ It was as if the man struck oil with how his face lit up. “Ah. To quote this paragraph,” Crowley paused before clearing his throat. Resisting the urge to kill him grew difficult with each passing moment. “‘ _Tanned skin with a constellation of freckles. Every inch of the hunter’s skin kissed by the sun. A body he knew intimately; soul and flesh wrapped in his grace. The righteous man he gripped tight and raised from Perdition.’_ What a steamy little bit that is,” Crowley finished smugly.

Jaw clenched Castiel slammed his laptop shut. “Don’t be so crude. The point of view is from an angel. It’s his first time on Earth in centuries, obviously humanity captures his attention. There’s nothing ‘steamy’ about it,” he snapped.

“I would believe you,” Crowley began, turning to face the direction of the front of the store and- and where Dean worked. His breath caught in his throat. “If you didn’t use this new novel of yours to write such frivolous bore about what is clearly one of my baristas.”

* * *

 _Son of a bitch._ Why did Benny have to bake the best pie ever? It wasn’t fair to him. Keeping a wide grin on his face as he served every customer was easy for Dean. Doing that when the café baker cooked some mouthwatering dessert not so much. He knew he couldn’t always get away with eating the display food, either.

“Come on man,” Dean whined, turning away from the last customer of the evening to face his friend. “Boss went off already for his New Year gig. _Please_ give me a slice of that pie,” he begged. It wasn’t something he did often but necessary in emergency situations. Like now.

Chuckling Benny set the warm batch of sugar cookies on the counter and wiped off some extra flour on his mandatory black apron. “No can do, brother. I leave the last of the desserts I got to bake for the night for you to sell and I’m out of here,” he reminded him.

With an exaggerated sigh Dean looked on longingly at the cookies. “Right yeah I get that. But it’s New Years dude! Didn’t you at least make me a slice of pie?” In the air he could smell the fresh baked blueberry. He knew he did.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Benny was holding out on him. Probably so he could keep all the pie to himself, that asshole. “Just give me my freakin’ pie,” he protested.

A thoughtful expression appeared on Benny’s face. Rubbing at his chin he took what felt like hours to answer him. “How about you go with me, Andrea, and the gang to the party Ash is throwing and I’ll give you pie,” he suggests.

Dean’s eyes went wide. “What? You can’t do that to me! I need this shift. Crowley’s paying me good to work till late. Some people don’t get cooking scholarships.” This sucks. Now he can’t leave until around two in the morning _and_ he doesn’t get any pie. Normally Dean doesn’t mind staying late but hardly anyone is going to be at a café shop on New Years.

“Then no pie,” Benny answered with a shrug like he hadn’t just crushed all of Dean’s hopes and dreams.

“No pie?” He repeated, crossing his arms. Pursing his lips in a pout Dean gestured around him to the practically empty café. Well, except for the pretentious blue eyed dude named Cas. But he didn’t really count. He was always around.

Instead of answering him Benny walked to the back of the shop. Dick. “Fine, your pie sucks anyway!” He called after him. No one was around to complain about customer service so it didn’t really matter. For the next ten minutes or so he just stared blankly at the flat screen TV on the wall opposite him. Why did Crowley leave it on the news station again?

On screen some lame celebrity he didn’t know did a concert for the people of New York. A timer counting down till the ball drop rested in the corner. “Stupid Benny. Won’t give me any pie,” Dean grumbled to himself, elbows resting on the counter as he watched the TV.

It occurred to him at some point that Benny ditched him for the party. Probably a few minutes after he walked away. Dean’s attention span wasn’t his strong point. A look around the shop confirmed his thoughts. Just him and Cas.

_He has to look up from his laptop sometime._

Switching from TV-watching to Cas-watching was a hell of a lot more interesting than the former. Every few minutes his eyebrows scrunched together, his lips pressed into a firm line, and he stared very seriously at his laptop.

_What was the guy doing anyway, watching porn?_

Considering how Cas dressed like a flasher he probably wasn’t far off. Fucker must have some kinda exhibitionism kink. In Dean’s experience the quiet ones were usually the craziest. ‘Cept for Rhonda Hurley. Though she was a special case.

Time continued to pass with Dean just staring at Cas and the man typing away on his laptop. When Cas finally looked up he nearly jumped five feet in the air. It occurred to him to wonder just how  _long_ he'd been sitting watching him. Turning away abruptly he pretended to be busy scrubbing at the counter with an old washcloth he found. As he fought to get off an invisible stain on the countertop Cas packed up his things and headed for the door. For a moment he debated over saying something- anything from a quick goodnight to a happy New Years. It all sounded stupid. 

Cas walked over to the door with some type of laptop he strapped over his shoulder and his coffee from earlier in hand. Now was his chance. All Dean had to do was flash a smile and say goodnight. That's it. Even if the man was pretentious as hell, he couldn't make that much of an idiot of himself by just saying goodnight. Right? 

Opening his mouth to say something the words curled up and died in Dean's throat when Cas' hand reached for the door. Right. He was leaving. Not that it mattered. All the dude did was sit on his laptop anyway. Though it soon became apparent that the door was stuck, because Cas had huffed and started tugging on it. 

"Uh, you need help?" Dean questioned, the first words he ever spoke to the guy.

A scowl rested on Cas’ features. "That would be helpful," he answered shortly, and Dean realized that his voice sounded like pure sex. Almost tripping while walking over to meet him he attempted a smooth recovery and rubbed at the back of his neck.

“I meant to do that,” Dean blurted out, face burning a hot shade of red. _Smooth, Winchester. Real smooth._

Cas didn’t seem to care at all about his asshole conscious. “Right. Do you think you can get the door now?” His words were clipped, and he looked everywhere but Dean.

Holy shit. What was this dude’s problem? Dean felt awkward, lame, and nothing like he did around a chick. “Yeah. ‘Course,” he agreed, jerking his head forward in a quick nod before he grabbed hold of the handle. Using all his strength he attempted to push it open. Nothing.

Another huff escaped Cas and he hurriedly moved Dean’s hand aside. “Let me do it.” Giving him space Dean backed up and watched as he tried to pull open the door instead of push.

Five, maybe six feet of snow fell into the café. Fluffy endless white that continued to pour into the room. Well fuck. Dean glanced at Cas for his reaction, watching as the man grumbled to himself before running a hand through some damn fine bedhead. “I believe we are snowed in,” he commented dryly.

 _No shit._ Dean decided not to state the obvious. That wouldn’t do any good. Even if Cas wanted to be a total grumpy dick he didn’t have to act like one himself. Plastering a wide, bright grin to his face he slung an arm around the man. “Well hey. Guess we are spending our New Year’s together,” he said, keeping his tone upbeat and cheerful.

Cas released a heavy sigh as if the universe hated him.

* * *

It shouldn’t be that bad. If anything, Castiel should be happy he gets to spend the New Years with a gorgeous man instead of alone in his apartment working on a manuscript and giving his lazy, fat cat attention when he meows too loudly. He wasn’t.

Though Dean may be a good source of inspiration and have a smile like he stole the sun, he wasn’t practical. The last thing Castiel needed right now was a relationship. And even if he did, Dean did not seem the type. Getting some silly little… crush on the man would lead to nothing good.

Currently Castiel sat back in his little corner of the café with his laptop on while he typed up his chapter. He refused to look at Dean, who had decided to sit only a table away from him while he watched the New Years special in New York. Originally he had wanted to sit at the same table as him, but Castiel had been clear that he needed his space. And, if Dean read over his shoulder and noticed the resemblance in the righteous man to himself he would die. Yes, die as dramatic as that may be.

“So… Cas,” Dean began, attempting to start a conversation like he had for the past hour.

Nicknames were ridiculous. Especially from someone Castiel hardly knew. Clearing his throat, he locked green eyes on the man sitting across from him. “My name is C _astiel,_ Dean,” he reminded him.

Instead of correcting himself Dean just snorted. “Right. So what are you doing anyway? We got ‘bout a half hour till midnight and you’re just sitting there,” he complained, looking about half his age with the pout he gave him.

“I am working,” Castiel informed briefly, choosing his words carefully. Technically as an author this _was_ his work.

Dean waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah. But don’t you wanna do something fun? I mean I doubt your old laptop can take that much anyway. Probably gonna overheat at this rate,” he pointed out, turning in his chair so that he was straddling the back of it.

Growing irritated Castiel rubbed his hand over his laptop. “It’s not that old,” he defended. Even though as a bestselling author he had more than enough money to buy a new laptop, he was fond of his old one. Dean had no right to call his laptop old.

Lips quirking up in a smirk Dean leaned back in his chair and folded his arms above his head. “Oh yeah. The thing is a freakin’ dinosaur.”

Castiel rubbed at his laptop agan, eyes narrowed. Perhaps his laptop was a few years outdated. And the fan inside could be rather noticeable. “My laptop is perfect fine,” he sniffed just as it whirled loudly.

With a snicker Dean gestures with his hand towards it. “The fuck is that anyway, Windows vista?” He questioned, his tone teasing.

Gritting his teeth Castiel decides not to respond. He is mature enough not to be baited so easily. In the background his laptop sputters like a bad engine, almost as if Dean’s words insulted it.

“I think your laptop wants to eat me Cas,” Dean joked, kicking his feet back on the table closest to him.

“You can be a real assbutt, you know that?” Castiel snapped, patience wearing thin over the last twenty or so minutes. “I can afford a new laptop perfectly fine, thank you. I certainly make more than a barista,” he continued in frustration.

Dean whistled lowly and held a hand over his heart. “That hurts man. College kid just tryna make his way and you, Mr. Successful over there are ragging on my honest living,” he said, tone sad and with a fake tear towards the end.

 _Fuck it._ “I’m Jimmy Novak, okay? Most popular fantasy novelist on the market right now,” Castiel admitted, voice edging on a growl towards the end. Though it was stupid to give away his pen name, at least it might finally shut Dean up.

It did not.

* * *

Only ten minutes till midnight now and Dean had been talking Cas’ ear off the entire time. Because holy shit, he could not believe that the grumpy dude with a serious case of PMS was _Jimmy Novak._

“Okay, but here me out. Wouldn’t in your next novel having Batman be in it, would be the coolest?”

Cas groaned, rubbing at his bedhead and still frantically typing away at his latest manuscript. “I told you before, Dean. I can’t have a character from _DC_ in my novel-“ he paused, and all of a sudden the lights flickered. Once, twice, and then everything went dark.

“Woah. Must be some storm outside, I guess the power just went out,” Dean commented with a chuckle.

Cas was far from as amused as him. It seemed that he was freaking out, going completely bat shit insane and Dean had no idea why.

"Fuck," Cas said roughly, slamming his laptop shut and rubbing at his temples. Wow. Dean thought he sounded real freakin' hot when he swore. Probably because Cas still had the stick up his ass attitude and seeing him let loose was refreshing. To the point where the next words he said didn't register in his brain, or why he wasn't allowed to say that and why it was off limits to say, for a long time. 

Grumbling to himself Cas finally sighed heavily and turned towards him. ""Lovely. The power went out and I lost my first draft of the chapter I was working on. What can I do now?" 

Really it wasn't fair how good Cas looked right now. That had to be why his brain to mouth filter stopped functioning. "Hey I got an idea Cas."

"What is it, Dean?" He questioned, rubbing at his forehead and looking for his part highly irritated. 

"It ain't all bad... We could bang," Dean suggested before he realized how stupid he must sound. 

Several minutes of silence passed. Cas said nothing, though he did notice the back of his neck turning red. Dean's own heart was about slamming out of his rib cage.  _Why had he just said that?_  Maybe he should have said something else. Like, just suggested a midnight kiss. Even if with the power off and his phone dead he had no clue what time it was. Probably past midnight. This had to be the only New Years when he hadn't kissed someone or found a hot chick (or guy) to hook up with. 

"Perhaps," Cas answered and Dean choked on air. 

"Wait, what.... are you- are you serious?" He questioned, stumbling out of his chair to look Cas right in the eye as he gave his answer. 

Instead of answering him immediately Cas appeared thoughtful. Laughing to himself as if he thought of the most funniest shit ever, he gave Dean a small smile. "Maybe that is what I need. I haven't even seemed to be able to get my novel done without putting you in it," he confessed. 

Dean's heart caught in his throat and his stomach felt like a box of old car parts rattled together. "Fuck. Wow. I uh- I didn't even... I just thought you ignored me and I dunno," he rambled, rubbing the back of his neck hard. "How about um, we just start with a kiss?" 

"I'd like that."

And so it wasn't exactly midnight, a little passed around 12:07 that Dean and Cas shared their first kiss. 

* * *

 In the morning the two had woken up with their limbs tangled together on one of the sofas in the back of the café. Cas and Dean had just fallen asleep together after a night of kissing and sharing their life with the other. It wasn’t the pace Dean was used to, he usually hooked up by now and ditched ‘em. But for some reason this worked. This was good, and it was all he needed.

Now hopefully they could figure out how to get out of the café because Dean and Cas couldn’t live on pastries and coffee forever.

* * *

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
